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clockwayswrites · 3 months

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Die Screaming, Live Laughing

Danny/Tim, Cyan, Wind through tree branches/Windchimes @wisteriavines @darkstarsapocalypse (I saw you before you changed that! Twins!)

cw:bar parent fentons, more temporary character death, bones

The faint, mechanical whir under his fingertips as he spins the camera lens comforts Tim. The fiddling is familiar from the years of following Bats and crime across the city. The rooftops of Gotham are an environment that he’s far more familiar with than here. Here is nothing but endless trees and leaves.

Well, somewhere here is also the campgrounds and Bernard, Ives, Steph, and Cass; but that’s far out of sight and almost out of mind. It’s easy, as he listens to the wind rustle through the trees, to feel like nothing exists but the trees and Tim and his camera.

He spins the lens again.

Ostensibly, the four of them are in these woods to find Mothman. Which would be cool! But even Tim, who proposed this whole thing, knows that it’s just an excuse for the four of them to do something away from Gotham. To do something to make actual use of their summer between high school and college.

If Tim went to college, that is.

He’d been accepted, sure, but he… he just didn’t know if he wanted to. It felt like there were more important things to be doing than college. College was sitting in a classroom and listening to someone drone on about a subject that Tim could crash course himself on with the right library access in a month. It also meant new people and new noises and maybe even a new home. None of that sounds great, really. Moving in with Bruce to Wayne Manor had been enough change, thank you very much.

Tim’s foot catches on something and he does a half step to keep his balance. He expects to see a tree root when he glances down. It’s bone instead. That’s not… unexpected. They had already seen deer in the woods, the creatures got stupidly close to the campsite. It would make sense that with the big rains the few weeks before, there could have been old remains uncovered. But there’s something…

The dirt brushes away easily from the surface of the bone and, with a little digging, Tim is able to pull it free of the earth.

This isn’t a deer bone.

Tim knows this shape.

This is human. A femur.

“You have to be careful where you’re walking out here.”

Tim stands and spins, the femur held like his staff would be.

The speaker is leaning against a tree several feet away. The golden, setting sun backlights them, making them look almost angelic with how they’re wreathed in light. They’re hard to look at.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim says, plastering on a nervous smile that was only half for show. How did they sneak up on him? That should have been impossible with the leaves and branches scattered across the forest floor. “Do you run into animal skeletons a lot out here?”

“Not really,” they say with a shrug before they start forward towards Tim. Their steps are silent. “I don’t really get around. And also, that’s not an animal skeleton.”

“No?” Tim’s grip on the femur tightens. “How do you know that?”

“How? Well, that’s because it’s mine!”

Tim swings.

The femur goes right through the stranger.

“Sorry! Little intense, I get it!” They back up a step and raise their arms. The dappled sunlight shines right through their hand. Shines right through them like the stranger is just made out of gossamer. “I get it, but be careful with that, please? It’s my arm! Or leg? No, leg.”

“Leg, it’s a femur,” Tim says, his mouth running without him as his brain works.

“Leg. Ancients, I miss having legs. And arms… and, well, anything solid really,” the stranger sighs. “I am sorry for scaring you. Just… it’s hard not to get a little intense when someone is holding one of my bones, you know?”

“Oh shit! That’s right, sorry,” Tim stammers as he hurries to put the femur back down on the disturbed earth. “Do you— I mean, should I rebury it? Did the rains washing away the earth, um, wake you up?”

“Kinda?” They tilt their head as they crouch down next to Tim.

It’s clear now, as they move a bit out of the light, how transparent they are. It’s like in the shadow they lose tangency. Their hair is still just as blinding, being bright white in a way that’s really beautiful. They reach out to touch the femur but stop short.

“I’m tied to my bones. It’s why they dumped them all the way out here. After they killed me, I mean, all the way killed me, I haunted the fuck out of them. And yeah, sure, they could hurt this form of me too, but I always found a way out and then it all started again. Burying my bones was the only way to get rid of me, and those fuckers didn’t even scratch me a headstone in the tree or anything. Some parents, huh?”

“Holy— yeah,” Tim says. Looking back down at the other partially exposed bones he has to swallow back a wave of sadness. “Is that a yes to covering them up?”

“Actually… I’d like you to dig them up. I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get justice or whatever, but I’d… I’d like to be somewhere proper and under my name.”

“What is it? Your name?”

“Danny.”

“Okay, Danny,” Tim gives a little nod and starts digging. “My friends and I will get you somewhere you feel safe. I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Danny doesn’t help dig. He can’t, he explains as Tim and him talk. While his bones are buried, he’s not able to interact with them or else he would have gotten them out of there a long time ago. They learn together that as soon as the bones are free and set gently aside that Danny can touch them.

Tim never thought he’d see someone so emotional over a tibia, but Tim can’t blame the guy. Tim figures he’d be emotional over his own bones too.

The big bones are the easiest. The ribs Tim is extra careful with. The fingers are weirdly like peanut shells in his hand. (He’s not going to eat pb&j for weeks now.) Danny chats the whole time, asking Tim about the world. Tim feels wholly inadequate to catch someone up like that, but when conversation turns to technology Tim settles into a rhythm.

It also lets them figure out that while Danny died just shy of nineteen, he’s apparently spent almost two decades in the ground. He still looks just shy of nineteen. He looks like he should be in the forest for the same reason that Tim is, celebrating the end of one era and the start of the next. Danny should be looking to the future, not mourning it.

It makes Tim pause when he finally unearths Danny’s skull. What would it have been like to see Danny smile? To hear him laugh without that faint echoing quality that he has as a ghost? To touch him?

“I’m sorry,” Tim says and holds out the skull. Danny’s skull.

“Thank you,” Danny whispers. His hands tremble as he reaches out towards the skull. He crumples forward before he can touch it, a sob tearing through him.

“I’ll make sure you’re somewhere nice.

“Thank you.” Danny lets out a breath he doesn’t have and sags forward the last inch. His forehead bumps against the skull.

Then he keeps going forward.

The world explodes into light.

“Tim?!”

“Are you sure he’s still alive?”

“You can see him breathing, Bernard.”

“Pulse.”

“Tim!”

Tim gasps awake and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. His friends and sister stand clustered above him. It has gotten dark and their flashlights are blinding.

“You okay?” Cass asks.

“Ow.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Steph sighs. “Hey Tim, who the fuck is that?”

“Wha—” Fuck his head hurts. Who the fuck is who?

Oh, the person laying in his arms. The person who’s solid and warm and alive.

Tim starts laughing.

“Okay, maybe a little not okay,” Steph amends.

“Is he ever?” Tim hears Ives mutter.

“Guys,” Tim interrupts them discussing his status once he can breathe again. “This? This is Danny.”

“Being alive again hurts,” Danny mumbles against Tim’s neck and Tim can’t help it, he just starts laughing again.

Being alive does hurt, but fuck if that isn’t wonderful sometimes.

---

AN: So this one got away from me a little but, uh... tada? I was planing to have it all explained more, but once Danny didn't purposefully do it, that didn't fit. Basically all if his frankly absurd powers and as a ghost got jump started by his skull and Tim's lifeforce and tada? 100% pulled some from Tim's Gotham Knights character where he's an awkward little bean who is so not neurotpyical. Him and Bernard taking a vacation to hunt Mothman is from that too.

Anyways, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #brain dead ship #dead tired ship #danny/tim #prompalomp

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natalievoncatte · 7 months

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The first time Kara Danvers touched Lena Luthor was seared on her memory. Lena had offered her hand in the usual way and Kara took it, but it was no ordinary handshake. Her grip was firm, but not controlling, and her flesh was warm, almost feverish. The handshake was like Kara herself- bold and brash at first, then softening, letting Lena take the lead almost with a sense of relief.

(Later, in a darkened room with an empty whisky bottle by her head and a broken picture frame clutched to her chest, Lena would realize that had *not* been the first time that Kara had touched her; the first time was to save her, rescue her, protect her, to bend steel one moment and reassure a terrified woman the next, and that first touch had set a tone for the others, a surpassing tenderness she didn’t deserve)

The next touch she remembered was Kara gently tapping her shoulder on a restaurant terrace. Lena had tensed at the brush of fingers on her shoulder, looking up sharply with a stabbing fear in her gut- it was the first time she’d dined out casually and publicly since her brother committed a literal crime against humanity. She wouldn’t dare do something so ordinary in Metropolis; she’d be lucky if there were only protesters with signs as she was leaving. Only when she arrived in National City did she let her guard down, both literally and figuratively. Kara’s impossibly soft fingers on her bare shoulder jolted her from her reading and she felt that spike of terror for just a moment before she met a pretty smile and those lovely, strangely haunted blue eyes greeting her.

Lena had built walls of steel and stone and pain and the woman who came from the sky took them apart touch by touch, not with fists but with back-pats and handshakes and hugs until there was nothing left but a bare soul, exposed and raw like a frayed nerve, with only Kara to protect it.

The next time it happened was at a gala. It wasn’t an important one and Kara was frankly bullshitting Lena by asking her to tag along to “report” on the goings-on. Lena knew it would be painfully boring for Kara because it was painfully boring for her.

That was what she thought, anyway, until Kara, bold sweet Kara, rested a guiding hand on the small of Lena’s back and lit up every nerve in ending in her body like a Christmas tree, as she defensively stood proud next to Lena, towering over her and the randy city councilman both. She wouldn’t know until later, much later, why Kara had seemed so much more herself, more true, in that moment.

After that was one of the most painful nights in her life. Lena had always known she was trash, that she was nothing but one of Lionel Luthor’s by-blows; sometimes she could hear Lilian at the funeral, snarling at her that she only existed because her father was a second too late to waste her on her mother’s thigh where she belonged. The world didn’t care about her hospital or her charity work or the effort she’d put into making her company a positive force in the world. Someone told them she poisoned the children and the goodwill was gone in a puff of smoke like the thin, gossamer thing it had been. Once a Luthor, always a Luthor.

Then Kara was there, a living, loving fortress of bone and muscle and love, wrapping Lena so tightly in a shield of pure compassion that she could have survived anything, that even as the tears fell she knew that she could live in a world that hated her so long as this one person could would love her so much. Kara carried her through that storm and more besides.

That was also the night that Lena began using her own touch as a substitute, a pale imitation of the one she wanted from Kara but knew she would never have.

But they did not always touch.

Later, after more hugs and more lingering hands and shared dances, they would sit next to each other for nights of games or movies, and their friends would begin to make innuendos and begin to stare and Lena let herself pretend that the touches were more than they were.

In the darkest hours of the night Lena would lie in an empty bed and pray for touches.

Then the worst thing happened, and she denied the touch. Kara reached out, meaning to console, to comfort, to protect, to make it all better with her maddening power, but there was no fixing it. In the frozen tomb that was Kara’s arctic fortress, Lena buried Kara alive in a green hell and wished never to be touched again.

But her anger did not last forever. It never does. They fought, they argued, Kara ruined her plans, called her a villain, resisted her at every turn… but never touched her. Those soft hands were never laid upon her in anger and there were times when Lena almost wanted it, just to feel them again.

Then one day Lena saw too much and learned too much and the enormity of what she had done came down upon her, rushing in on her all at once, and she was as raw and naked and pained as she had been that night long ago when she first realized what Kara’s touches meant.

When she rushed back to the rent controlled side of town, going on foot for fear her brother would learn of her destination if she took the car, she only had wanted to set things right. She knew she didn’t deserve what she’d already been given and would ask no more.

Kara was waiting for her. When she opened the door she stood tall, jaw set, hair down over a pastel cardigan. The effect of Supergirl’s stern, righteous conviction garbed in the soft, inviting form of Kara made her heart do a flip, almost made her run, but she held her ground, feeling like a child begging forgiveness from a hurricane.

Lena stood before the open door, trembling and shaking, tears cutting red lines down her cheeks as she explained herself.

She didn’t expect Kara to touch her, so when it happened she flinched, almost yelped. When those powerful arms wrapped around her, it was as if nothing had changed, but everything had changed, because for the first time, Lena touched her back.

Lena touched her back without fear or reservation. She touched her back without the nervousness that came with hugging her Straight Best Friend. She hugged her back without deceit. She hugged her back with absolute conviction, saying with her arms and hands what her ever broken heart could never speak in words.

Kara’s touch answered her. She cupped Lena’s chin with a softness, a gentle control that no human could ever have, even as she closed the apartment door with such intensity that it left a hand print in the metal. The touches changed; they were no longer announcements but conversations, exchanges, dances and music at the same time. The world became a blur, a dreamscape of hands lifting her from the floor and relieving her of her coat and laying her on a bed, each caress a declaration that Lena answered with her own.

When their lips met, Lena poured into them every thought, every desire, every pain, every longing. She would have swallowed Kara if she could, climbed inside her, and Kara’s hands and lips begged and adored and instructed and finally, after, in morning sunlight, Lena buried her face in a sleeping Kara’s shoulder and wept her joy and freedom, because at last she was home.

When Alex came and Kara told her that Lena would help them safe the world, they were holding hands.

They would be holding hands again much later, after much love and loss and hope and joy, when Kara closed a delicate bracelet around Lena’s wrist.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #omg they’re holding hands #is this smut? I don’t even know lmao #weird kind of character study #probably kind of pretentious

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meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender · 8 days

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Summary: When the god of the Winter needed a messenger, he had chosen you. Yet your elders wanted you dead. But John Price, the god of the Winter, had other plans for his devotee. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Leaving this here, then backing away slowly. If you like, please comment and reblog. Special thanks to @itsagrimm for editing, even though you aren't into the type of writing. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for your beautiful dividers that I use in literally everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, brief mention of suicide, brief mention of hypothetical pregnancy because what is John Price without a breeding kink? Voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, elements of paranoia, and mindreader elements.

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

You had been abandoned. Sent aimlessly into the east by your deceiving elders to find the oh-so-benevolent god of Winter. Your people had discarded you, and perhaps, you had now been forsaken by the Holy One. Under the new winter moon, you had no bearing in these strange woods. You were lost and without hope. Stumbling into a thicket, you paused, catching your breath. Once your village elders cut your binds and removed the blade from your still bleeding throat, you ran. You had three options now: find the Winter God John Price and beg for mercy, return home to your village to die by your elder’s blade, or finally, die by a frozen death.

Yanking down the sleeves of your dress, you shivered. Only a fool would think the thin lace would be enough to fight the cold. You hadn’t bothered to ask for a cape when you would be dead come dawn by the blade of your elders or the mercy of winter’s chill. Besides, if the elders thought it could help entice the winter god closer to you, you welcomed the possibility. The god liked fine things- the fragility of ice coating sleeping trees, the nuanced tendrils that composed a snowflake, the finespun embroidery on an altar cloth. Perhaps the gossamer lace of your gown would make you look as alluring as snow?

Your village worshiped the god of the East along with his three other seasonal counterparts. In the winter, the altar faced east for John. In the spring, it faced north for Kyle. In the summer, the altar faced west for Johnny, followed by facing south in the Autumn for the one they called Ghost. You traversed the mezzanine of the aged temple as if it was your birthing ground, dedicating yourself to the unknown and to what divine vexed within.

A creature howled in the far distance, three more joining in the call. You wished you had a blade for protection, but the foolish elders would not allow it after the last messenger sent to find the God of Winter killed himself. He died from fear of the gods with his body left for the animals starved for winter scraps according to the elders. The collapsed skull and bloodied rock meant otherwise. You would become like the warrior- murdered- if you didn’t keep moving.

At least you’d be dead if you stopped moving, and wasn’t that something to rejoice over for the elders? They wanted you gone the moment you opened your mouth, defending the holy temples in a burning righteousness against their infidelity. The elders mocked your faith, staging a spectacle to rejoice in their perceived standings with the holy gods, to enshroud their continued greed of village resources, and holy temple offerings while preventing you from stepping foot inside the sacred temple.

All you wanted was to worship your gods in peace and for your village to know that peace.

A branch snapped in the distance. Setting your foot down ever so quietly, you glared into the darkness of the night. In your chest, your lungs froze as if a tiny breath could lead starving beasts toward you, but your heart tapped a wild rhythm against your bones like a war drum urging warriors forward in battle. Between the bones of the trees, a figure raised from the ground. Dirt quaked in its path, fearing the disturbance as flashes of odd whites and black wove into a tall, hulking beast emerging like smoke. The vaporous monster inhaled. It was as if he sucked the forest in with his expanding breath, the conductor of the skeletal structure of the land. The one who assembled appendages of bone like armor and crown, marking his distinct otherness to any creature known before. Opening his eyes, bright gold light flared from its eye sockets, a perpetual fire, locked on burning you alive.

You ran. Barreling through the underbrush, thorns cut and tore at your dress, slowing you down. Pushing deeper into the woods, you dared not glimpse back at the monstrous shape. The gods, you prayed, would give one last indulgence by sparing your life. Dodging fallen trees and saplings, you heaved for a breath. Your toe caught on something sending you tumbling forward, down the hill, to be stopped by a mangled stump. There was little to be felt from the roar in your mind and blood careening to endure, to run, to survive.

Looking up, the terrifying haint peered down at you with its head tilted to the side, lazily biding his time hunting you. Fleeing, you made way towards the river that supplied the village with water. The monsters couldn’t cross the running water at the bottom of the ravine. Everybody knew that. Your breath created puffs of smoke with each gasp of air, streaming from your lips like a dragon’s purr.

Down at the river, you paused, cursing at your luck. The river was frozen over, but how deep the ice went was beyond you. You had to cross, fighting for a chance at life and to find John Price to appeal for assistance proving your claims. Taking a deep breath, you ventured on the ice, straining your ears for cracking and shifting sounds. Freedom sang like a siren from the other side of the waters with the promise of faith delivering you into her hands. On the other side was an assurance of one more day in your beloved temples with the beloved gods, of life, and of being free from the elders.

Without the freedom to roam the holy grounds of faith, what would be left for you?

You slipped with a screech, flailing until you caught your balance. Your hands trembled as breath fogged the air. Crossing was the only option, regardless of death prowling down to find you. The thought of the being sent shivers down your spine, and you squeezed your eyes shut as if it would banish the evil and push you across the waters.

“Stop!” A man bellowed like thunder echoing in the ravine. You jumped, slipping on the ice. With an assured crack, the ice broke, plunging you into the icy waters.

You gasped, choking on river water. Kicking to the surface, you were met with a ceiling of ice. You hit the ice with your hand to no prevail until the bubbles from your nose dissipated and a film of darkness descended upon your peripherals. In the gloom, eyes of golden fire shimmered at you, refracted by the ice, illuminated by the flash of lightning.

It smelled like oak and spices as you inhaled. The bed you laid in was spacious, a soft luxury you sunk greedily into. Moments of time slowly returned to you as you stirred, until a tapestry unfolded, painting what had occurred in the woods to you. How you had survived drowning or hypothermia was beyond you, feeling none of it, now. Cocooned tightly in thick blankets, albeit naked as the day you were born, sleep still called in the comfort of the home. A warm crackle of a fireplace and the deep mutterings of men speaking filled your ears as you blinked. In your nest, you buried further in, savoring the needed heat with a sigh with your eyes peeking over the cover.

The two men, seated in the corner, had stopped conversing to stare at you. One was slim but muscular, with dark skin and shining brown eyes. He wore a grin both authentic and sly as if mischief personified, waiting for his time to strike and laugh at your mild misfortune.

The other man was a bear. Thick, burly, legs with sizable thighs spread to consume room; it seemed all he did was call attention to himself. The cocky spread of his legs to the icy blues of his eyes; your neck burned as he smirked, having caught you staring.

“Hello, Fawn,” The bear rumbled, intentionally softening his voice and leaning down as if afraid to spook you like the little deer.

“Ghost found you,” injected the younger one. “It took him and Soap to pull you from the ice and bring you home. That was pretty stupid; getting on the ice like that. Haven’t people told you not to do that?”

Getting on the ice was stupid, but letting yourself get consumed and murdered by a beast was even worse. You had half a mind to tell the younger man your thoughts on the matter, but here you were, naked in a stranger's bed… alive. While grateful, you needed to leave. The task to find John and plead for his assistance in clearing the village of your awful elders still loomed, as did the precarious nature of being nude in a room of two strong men.

“I’m looking for someone,” You mumbled. “I had no choice.”

“I know,” The older man hummed before speaking your name like a whisper of wind on your ear.

The God of Winter . Your spine went straight before you bolted upright, clinging the blankets to your chest. These men were not men at all but your four holy gods. There was half a mind to shuck off the blankets and fall to your knees in reverence. You had offered prayers while bathing before; was this any different? As you shifted, apologized, and begged for pardons on the tip of your lips, John shook his head and stood.

“Gaz, go let Soap and Ghost know our fawn is all right,” John said, clasping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz promptly left the room, closing the wooden door behind him, not before offering you one final comforting grin.

“I am sorry. I had to find you. The elders sent me to the woods to murder me. And… I didn’t know what else to do but to seek your help. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. The elders are murdering anyone who dares question them. Nobody believes me even though I have proof! The village will not survive the winter because of our elder’s theft from them and of the temple and I need your help. I have done nothing wrong except be loyal to you, John,” You rushed out in a single breath. “Please, help me. Help us .”

John set his hand on your cheek, running his thumb over your warming cheeks. A violent shiver sprung through your body, encouraging you closer to the god. You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his palm, lulled by the smell of spices and the alluringness of being physically held by him. Finally, you had removed the burden of secrecy and responsibility and John took it lightly with his hands soothing the ache from your skin with the glide of his fingers.

“Love, you’re being too harsh. There is no reason to apologize,” He reassured you with a kiss on your forehead. “The fault lies with your elders. You have done all I have asked of you and more. Do not agonize yourself over the stubbornness of others. It will get you nowhere.”

You closed your mouth and held his wrist, keeping him to you. You thought of all your nights spent praying to the god of Winter when sleep evaded you. When you screamed or cried your prayers in agony, begging the divine god of winter to make himself known to you so that your faith was not in vain and your people could be free from the elders.

But what of your people? What choice would they make? The old gods were worshiped only in tradition and the elders had slowly pushed your people further from the gods as the temple began to deteriorate.

You were always dedicated to the divine in odd ways. Observant gifts of John’s favorite flowers and drinks were left on your homemade altar—prayers written on little papers in a box. Spare time spent tending to the aged temple and cleaning it, preparing it for worship. Devotion in wearing John’s favorite color as a ribbon around your wrist, bearing his color like a mark of ownership over you.

It was… your stomach clenched as you remembered bathing in his favorite fragrances, the soap trailing between your breasts, water falling as gracefully as the curves of your skin, for his solstice day. Later that night, deciding to offer John an orgasm on a lust-induced whim. When you came down from your high, you swore you could feel the divine by your knees, looking down at the mess you had made, dribbling into the sheets. The idea of him voyeuring into your bedroom made you leak, reaching a bold hand down to part your lips for him to see your swollen clit.

“What you want from us, little Fawn,” John tilted his chin to look you in the eyes as his warm toned voice dipped between your thighs to make them clench. “Comes at a high cost for you.”

“And let my people suffer from the elder’s greed? Surely, you understand how harsh winter can be! And to let the gods lay waste when this is proof you still are near has to be blasphemy. I don’t want to die, but I’d rather try dying than be left bystanding in silence, rotting away-”

John took your neck in hand and hulled you to your feet. Your words died on your tongue as his nose pressed into your cheek. Chests pressed together, his human form radiated heat and softness protecting layers of muscle and power. You wondered briefly if his divine form would look more bear or beast, unleashing the thrum of calculated energy pulsing inside the god.

“Fawn, martyrdom is for suicidal fools. Not even the martyrs ask for their portion, they stumble upon it trying to uphold the will of the gods which threatens the portions and powers that be in your mortal world,” John shook your head ever so slightly, pressing closer until you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. Dark as ice, they pierced into you flickering from your eyes to your mouth, the urgency he held you with inching into territories you were unsure of but eager to explore. His eyes flickered down for a moment, and you shivered at your exposure, pressing your face into his neck as if to hide. “You will stay the night but come dawn, you must return home to live for us.” John instructed, pushing your hair from your neck. Leaning down, he nipped the bottom of your ear playfully, kissing along your neck.

You hummed, offering your neck to his lips. It didn’t matter if you had laid with a million other people before or none at all. You yearned for the assured solidity of the gods, and now you had it. They could have your body, the works of your hands, the words of your mouth, the paths of your feet. You only wanted to be near John, safe, nestled into his side, even if for a little while. To be welcomed into the god of winter’s bed for even a night? The idea made your thighs slickened with want, heat pooling in your stomach.

Everything in your bones wanted to please him, to let him have his fill of you, to honor him with the best of your skin and body. You’d get on your knees for him. Suck his cock until you are panting, with his cum on your tongue. You wanted to be good . You let out a little whine, a soft vibration in your throat. John chuckled, coming up from your throat to kiss you properly, all while moving you on the bed.

He kissed down your throat, gently touching your chest with the hints of friction making you squirm, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I want you to soak my fingers and cock with this pretty cunt tonight, Fawn” John decidedly spoke. You eagerly nodded, humming as his hand squeezed the fat of your stomach.

You opened your thighs as he descended between them, grinning as he knelt before you. You could have laughed at his eagerness if it wasn’t for the gentle, inquiring sweep of his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. A sigh fell from your lips as he played with your cunt, a pleasant warmth filling your mind as your legs found a home on his shoulders, your hand on the back of his neck, scratching the short hairs there.

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy since you showed her to me,” John growled, thumb swirling on your clit just as you had when you played yourself for him. Your knees bent, pushing your pelvis to catch the angle just right . “Offered me use of your body, a delicacy, to use as I please. Perfect little human for me to fuck whenever,” He growled before putting his mouth to work, sucking on your clit.

You keened, bucking your cunt into his face. John devoured you whole, feasted on you, your head in the clouds, floating with nothing to tether you but his mouth. The god of winter’s fingers prodded your entrance, slipping in with a slight stretch. His fucking hands, reaching depths you could never achieve on your own, made you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. From below your stomach, John was fully committed, eyes closed, grunting against your cunt.

John fought against your legs, drawing out the pulsing waves of pleasure until your ears were ringing, vision white, cresting into a beautiful brainless hum as your body went limp.

“Fuck, John, I can’t,” You whimpered, pushing his forehead back. Your chest heaved, hands grasping for anything you could reach until he slid his hand in yours, anchoring you to him. He moved, and you closed your sticky thighs, clenching at the slick dribbling down. John reverently kissed your collarbone, hands brushing over your scalp, lulling you from the cloudy space.

His lips kissed along your neck and chest as his hands wandered along your hips and thighs, rough fingers tickling the sensitive skin of your ass. Your eyes opened, greeted by his gentle gaze as he hovered over you. His mouth had been pinkened by your cunt, hair mused by your thighs and hands.

Grabbing his hand, you kissed his palm before licking the fingers that had been inside of you moments before. Something was intoxicating about the way you tasted, strong and delicious. Taking his fingers in your mouth, you hummed, thinking about how much thicker his cock would feel. John swore, pushing his fingers against your tongue, stilling your control. You moaned, letting your eyes close and legs fall open. Holding his arm, you could feel how your tits were pressed together by your biceps, making you not only a sight but a spectacle .

“Want my cock that bad, little fawn?” John teased. Opening your eyes, you nodded, nudging him closer with your foot. Removing his fingers, he drug his hand down your centerline, leaving a cold trail of your spit down your body. He slowly entered you, grunting with his eyes glued to the way you sucked him in.

“Fuck, John,” You whimpered, panting at the fullness pressing you open. His thumb rubbed your clit, lulling you back to another orgasm. Spreading your legs, he placed a knee on the bed as he began to thrust, covering his cock in your frothy slick.

It was hot and so, so full as he reached parts of you that had you gasping for air and tearing up. There was no pinch, only a subtle burn from the stretch, soothed by his cooing in your ear and thumb working wonders on your clit. Shifting his hips, he fed you more of his cock, making your vision go frayed around the edges. If your brain could leak away, it would slowly leak out with the wetness of your cunt.

“Just like that, fawn,” John encouraged, making you clench around him. “My little offering to take as I want, letting me use you like a good girl,” John grunted as you clenched around him, his hands falling to your stomach and hip, selfishly grasping at the plush skin to pull and drag you off his cock with.

“I’m,” You whined, clawing at the god’s massive arms, rippling with movement. “Please, John! Feels so good, filled up,” You babbled, trying to run closer and further with each thrust.

His other hand laid over the base of your throat, curling possessively around, forcing your eyes to his, forehead to forehead, as he pressed and pressed into your cunt, stretching you wide and filling you perfectly.

“Pretty wet cunt, dripping for me,” John’s lips brushed your ear, moaning into it. He reached a hand to gently pinch your nipple, making you gasp. “Rub yourself for me. Let me see you soak my cock.”

You slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your clit, spreading your lips wider, feeling fully exposed, unable to help the moan and the chasing buck of your hips, humping the tight heat pooling in your stomach.

“Cum, love. Cum for me.”

You listened, you always did, a perfect little offering for him to use. You fought to keep your eyes open as you came, body convulsing, to show him what he had made you into. But when your fingers became too sharp, the pleasant hum of blood in your head turning into a sharp ringing, you went limp, thighs covered in slick cum as John took his final thrusts. Ropes filled you as his hand lovingly smoothed over your lower stomach. He rested his forehead on yours, panting as he lazily kissed you, his cock twitching as you warmed him.

“You okay?” John whispered from his place between your breasts as you scratched the back of his head.

“Sore,” You hissed as he slipped from you but was quickly scooped into his arms and laid across his chest. “M’tired,” You confessed, closing your eyes with a soft sigh.

You would be content to lie on his chest for the rest of time, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, wrapped in the warmth of his broad arms. Everything about you felt small compared to him; the way his hands engulfed yours, the way your calves had laid over his shoulder, the ripple of muscles and fat as he had fucked you.

“I need to clean up,” You mumbled, fingers following the lines of his pectorals.

“In a moment, darling. We’ll both clean up.” John kissed the top of your head, reaching for a glass of water for you to drink from before he took a few sips.

The god of Winter leaned down and kissed you so gently, soothing the aches with gentle hands against your thighs. Though, you felt it was more an excuse to touch your thighs more, but you didn’t mind. After cleaning up, you fell asleep swiftly, draped over his chest as his fingers traced dainty traces of snowflakes along your spine, tended to and protected.

In the morning, you woke in your own bed, dressed in the robes of a high priestess, as someone pounded on your door. As you rose, you felt the phantom aches of the previous night between your thighs. Quickly hiding the robes, you caught the white scars of John’s handprint over your womb, etched like silver ice into your skin.

“One second!” You yelled, dressing. Once you were decent, you threw open your door and gawked.

“There’s been a war party! They burnt the elder’s homes and the wheat stores! We need help!” The man took you by the arm and pulled you into the fray of dark smoke against the blooming pink winter sky. It was snowing, melting into water that slid down your arm and into the frosted grounds.

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adoreddestiny · 7 months

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ೃ⁀➷ TAKING A HIT FOR HIM — xavier x gn!reader

a whirlwind of electricity crackles amongst the two of you. from within the dense forest, an eerie growl bellows out. xavier glances to you with narrowed brows. his stance is stiff and poised but confident.

“i’ve got your back,” you say. the pistol in your hands is warm from gunpowder sparks.

“just follow my lead,” he says softy. despite the situation around you two, his eyes are gentle and soft towards you.

a wild, belligerent dance takes place amongst the grassy undergrowth. shadows of branches stretch out on the patterned ground and footprints scatter streak across.

a growl from the trees emits, low and dangerous, and the moment xavier catches his breath, you spot a glint of red from the corner of your eye.

“watch out!” you exclaim, pushing him aside as the wanderer lunges out and pins you to the ground. its claws sink into your palms as its teeth snarl dangerously close to your nose.

within another second, it’s pushed aside and a silvery sword is plunged into its side. in an explosion of shimmery light, it evaporates and xavier is standing over it with a haunted look.

his eyes’ gossamer glint fades as he turns to you, hurrying to your side. a blossoming ache seeps into your abdomen as you look up at him.

“are you okay?” he asks. His voice is just barely above a whisper. His hands are gentle when he lifts you. He scans your wound, relief flooding his expression when he notes that it’s not fatal.

“i’ll be fine,” you say softly. he doesn’t say much for a moment, just holding you tightly on the border of words he’ll most likely never say.

“just… please don’t do that again,” he murmurs. the moonlight streaks across the branches and shines against his light hair creating a glowy halo. you don’t have a choice but to nod when he gently picks you up.

#ੈ♡˳ aurora's writing #i’ll prob do one for each of them #love and deepspace #xavier x mc #love and deepspace xavier #xavier fluff #xavier angst #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #xavier #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace angst

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ninibeingdelulu · 3 months

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Silence ✧

Plot: You, one of the nurse of the Task Force 141, take care of his injury.

A/N: Guys— I know I said I’m gonna take a break but this have been in my mind and I wanted to share it with y’all😭 so my final post until exams is gonna be abt kaiser!!

It's been another one of those brutal ops that left the boys of Task Force 141 pretty banged up as usual.

Holed up back at the safe house, you're the only nurse on duty tonight handling their medical needs post-mission.

The door to the makeshift triage bay suddenly kicks open with Lieutenant Ghost himself stalking inside with that icy unreadable vibe he always gives off.

Like he's some sorta apex predator assessing any potential prey in his vicinity even among allies.

With his usual skull baclava, he head toward a chair without a word. Then he just calmly lifts his bloodstained shirt exposing that frighteningly huge, scarred torso built like some kinda walking brick shithouse.

You can't help the nervous gulp escaping as those piercing steel-black eyes bore straight through you standing there frozen.

Sizing you up like some helpless little rabbit ready to be ripped apart by those massive bear-paw mitts clenching fistfuls of shredded fatigues.

Until your medical training finally clicks into autopilot gear catching sight of the nasty bullet graze scorched across his lower abdominal slabs.

Gnarly enough to require patching up judging by the steady trickle still seeping out between those ridges.

You give the subtlest shake snapping out of it then retrieve the first aid kit heading over.

Carefully avoiding those glacial irises still tracking you as you silently kneel before the seated Lieutenant without uttering a word.

Once situated between those tree-trunk thighs you get to work cleaning and disinfecting the jagged wound with the antiseptic wipes.

Ghost barely even flinches when the alcohol solution hits that raw patch of burger meat - dude's an absolute stoic savant when it comes to playing through pain.

At least until you hear the faintest hiss slipping past those clenched jaws when you apply slightly too much pressure against the tender injury.

Instantly you freeze then murmur a hushed apology, letting your touch turn gossamer light yet still effectively cleaning the gash while he stays utterly motionless.

Something about the close proximity between you both suddenly amplifies, like both your heartbeats are syncing up while you focus on meticulously wrapping those sterile bandages around Ghost's midsection.

Even through all that scar-tissue cratering his abdomen you can feel the searing warmth radiating off in pulsating waves.

Against your better judgment you chance a glance upwards to check if everything's still good on his end.

But the second your gaze meets that utterly primal smokey-black stare piercing straight through you, it's like every nerve ending in your body ignites simultaneously.

Those razor-sharp raptor eyes hungrily drink in every subtle shift and flex of your form positioned so vulnerably below him.

Heart thundering against your ribcage now as realization dawns about just how terrifyingly easy it would be for those titanic arms to completely overpower and snap you like a damn twig.

Yet a deeper core-level current also hums between the charged particles gathering unbearably thick in the air around you both too.

Stoking thrills of a different sort pulsing through your veins beyond just the mortal peril his presence typically broadcasts.

By the time you finish securing the gauze wrappings and carefully rise back upright, your throat's gone bone dry.

Forcing you to swallow hard glancing away while reminding him not to overexert. To diligently rest and hydrate sufficiently over the next few recovery days so you don't hafta come redress this all over again.

But the second your back's turned gathering those scattered supplies, you audibly inhale feeling Ghost's furnace-like proximity crowding up against you from behind.

Not overtly threatening yet - rather merely an intoxicatingly heady presence amplifying that strange tension crackling across your hypersensitive nerve endings exquisitely.

Those steel-cable forearms extending across both sides bracketing you in while his ragged whisper ghosts up the nape of your neck with a scorching caress.

"Much obliged, then...for always patching us up good as new, Doc..."

The words alone already skated the boundaries of impropriety.

But coupled with that dangerously carnal subtext rumbling just beneath the surface instantly flash-fried your higher cognitive processes into vapor.

You remained utterly petrified in place absorbing the infinitesimal sensations of his titanium frame pressing so tantalizingly close yet not fully against you while Ghost silently withdrew.

Leaving your entire body combusting from the inside out without another word spoken between you both...

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x y/n #ghost cod #simon ghost smut #ghost smut #ghost fluff #call of duty #call of duty x reader

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bwlkins · 7 months

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Crowley's newspaper

Maple lane post box becomes home to spider species not seen in 45 years

Job 8:13-15 So is the end of everyone who forgets God, and so shall the hope of the godless perish. His confidence is but a gossamer thread, his trust is a spider’s house. He shall lean upon his house, but it shall not stand; he shall cling to it, but it shall not endure.

A spider’s house represents the shakiness, the uncertainty of someone's position when they live without God.

The newspaper depicts the exact same post box as the one next to which Aziraphale finished his conversation with the Metatron by departing with the "good news".

That may be a reference to Crowley's uncertainty:

But also, Crowley loses his home in Episode 1. And in Episode 6, Aziraphale loses his home as well.

That makes sense, but why the post box? I think it's their new home for now, their pillar to replace the one they lost.

They're not talking. They don't get a chance to talk. But LETTERS.

And then there's the maple.

Zacchaeus was a little man, and wanted to see Jesus, so he climbed a sycamore tree. Jesus looked up and said, “Hurry down, Zacchaeus, because I must stay in your house today.” The people started grumbling because Jesus was going to the home of a sinner.

He is known primarily for his faith in climbing a sycamore tree to see Jesus and also his generosity in giving away half of all he possessed.

The sycamore tree symbolises regeneration, a reference to someone who is spiritually reborn. Zacchaeus' regenerated heart caused him to make restitution and change his life in Jericho. The sycamore tree symbolizes the power of seeking spiritual enlightenment and the potential for personal transformation.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #ineffable idiots #good omens s2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #the metatron #the final fifteen #ineffable lovers #ineffable divorce #aziraphale x crowley #good ineffable omens #good omens parallels

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cambion-companion · 1 year

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Hugging the Elves (blorbos)

Elrond ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Elrond is a healer, of both body and heart. His home of Rivendell is where those blessed enough to gain entry find refuge for their spirit. Elrond would hug like a father comforting his child, he would wrap you into a secure embrace. He smells like familiar spices and fresh warm cloth as you bury your head against his shoulder. The long sleeves of his robes wrap around your body and offer solace under their weight. He will smile down at you gently, a fond crinkling around his eyes full of wisdom and starlight.

Glorfindel

Sunshine incarnate, Glorfindel's hugs are enthusiastic and don't be surprised if he lifts you into his arms and twirls you around once or twice, especially if he has been on errantry and not seen you for a while. His long golden hair would get in both your faces and he would laugh, bell-like, as he gently brushes it away. He smells of a fresh summer breeze carrying the light scents of flowers and evergreen trees as you press your cheek to his chest. I also see him as being fond of taking your face in his hands, enjoying looking into your eyes and reading your emotions there. When you are in need of comfort be assured Glorfindel will always be ready to offer you a warm embrace as you bask in his glowing presence. His very touch is enough to chase away any creeping darkness from your mind. (yes I am madly in love with him can you not tell)

Arwen

Arwen doesn't hug very many people, so when she opens her arms to you it is a gift indeed. She smells of lilac and midsummer nights spent by the lake under the stars. Her hair is as soft as goose-down and the gossamer of her sleeves slips between your fingers. She holds the back of your head lightly as you lean against her, closing your eyes and enjoying the feel of her chin tucked against your head. Arwen will also peer into your eyes, as they are windows to your soul, and give you a soft understanding smile before engaging you in light conversation and laughter.

Thranduil

(as a brief aside, I do not at all like the characterization of Thranduil in the movies as they turned him into King Thingol of Doriath who is much different in temperament. thus, this will be based on his book self)

Thranduil is regal and guarded, yet he has a warmth about him you have grown accustomed to receiving from the Elves. Like Arwen he does not embrace others readily, but will receive your affection with a broad smile and happy chuckle. His hands placed securely on your upper back as you lean against him, breathing in his scent of juniper berries and pine. This hug will be brief but meaningful and leave you feeling elated and refreshed. He will then invite you to dine with them and perhaps accompany his folk into the forest to dance and frolic to the sound of harpists and singing.

Legolas

Legolas is full of laughter and wit and will accept your hug with joy, squeezing you tight against him as he ruffles your hair about in an affectionate manner. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale the smell of leather and woodsmoke. He will hold you against him for as long as you wish, even rocking you side to side if you remain in his arms for long. When you do pull away Legolas will grasp your forearms and beam at you, making a witty comment, his countenance brightening when you laugh.

Finrod

(Yes, I have to include this golden boy)

The first among Elves to befriend humans, even the first to see them, Finrod has a special place in his heart for his mortal friends. He loves giving and receiving hugs and will wrap you in his arms readily and with reverence. His golden hair tickles your face and he laughs, looking down at you as you scrunch your nose at the sensation. Finrod smells of the ocean winds that form the waves and the carpet of moss that covers forest floors. He is Valinor mixed with Middle Earth, belonging to both and yet neither. There is a sadness to his grip as he brushes a stray hair from your face after you pull away. But as ever with his kin the sadness in his eyes swiftly turns over to mirth and he takes your hand before pulling you along with him to your next adventure.

let me know who else I should write these for!

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touyas-multi-purpose-saline · 29 days

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cw: Yandere Themes, Possessive Behavior, Gaslighting / Allusions to Gaslighting, Violence / Violent Imagery, Non-Con / Attempted Non-Con, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Themes Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Read at your own discretion! 18+ Only!

author's note: This is for the second half of anon's request! I had fun playing around with this one, too. I really enjoy writing for Overhaul! This was a prompt from "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" and can be found here . REQUESTS ARE OPEN — READ TAGS. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

PROMPT: Lily (Purity): "I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

word count: Approximately 1.4k.

You’re terrified.

The bed doesn’t offer an ounce of solace whenever you fall, whenever the back of your knees thump against its edge and it sends you catapulting throughout space and time. You feel heavy and light at the same time, lead in your mouth whenever you try to breathe, the smell of metal hearty and deafening. You bounce softly whenever the mattress catches you, but your body quakes so much that you feel like you keep going and going, and your hands are working a mile a minute to slam behind your frame to drag you back back back back back. Far away, you’re trying to leave this realm, leave the edge of the bed, trying to nestle into the bed frame, to find a way to meld into the wall and never return. But even if you could, there’s that voice whispering in the shell of your ear, reminding you that it’s futile, useless, and you’re clueless, and that it wouldn’t matter anyway because—

Kai steps closer. He stalks like a predator, staring down your frame, visage cloudy and unreadable. You’re never able to see what he’s thinking, the windows to his soul closed with midnight curtains, but there’s something flashing above his face like a halo that produces chills down your arms. He’s going to hurt you, there’s no way he isn’t, but you don’t know how, don’t want to know how. And whenever his knees start to sink on the bed so that he can begin to ascend the trek to your shuddering frame, everything around you begins to home in. Breathing becomes difficult, maybe it was never even a thing, and you’re finding that the world truly is a drain, water in a bowl hurling and vomiting, loose stones in a stomach. You get your fill, and your head hits the wall with a broad thud.

Being here is the worst thing you’ll ever experience, watching Kai draw closer and closer and closer is anything but the cherry on top. More is to come, and that’s what feels like spikes, chains whipping in the wind, the braying of a captured horse, everything knives down your flesh, flaying you alive. Your eyes are frantic whenever you glance around, whenever you try to think about yourself as not yourself, you try to figure out what would help you ground the fluttering nerves, what could let you slink away into the underbrush so that you don’t have to think about whenever Kai pauses in front of your frame and stretches a hand out. Pads of fingers are gossamer spider webs stringing through the trees, breaking in odd splinters and tickling your thigh.

“Why did you back away from me?”

He knows why. He’s tormenting you. He’s trying to find ways to gaslight your silly brain into thinking you’re the one that hurt him, that you’re the one doing something wrong, that you’re the one being a bad little child. A part of you begs to tell the truth, to watch that poised and clear expression melt off of his face into something disgusting and monstrous so that you can sneer and hate him more. You want to fight him, want to tear your head into two slices so that your teeth can shoot out of your mouth, elongate into blades so you can bite down into his temples and never let go. Thick saliva starts to puddle in your mouth whenever you think about how his warm blood would taste undulating across your tongue. Your nails clench into the bedsheets.

You’re too much of a fucking pussy to fight back though.

“I… don’t know.”

Kai’s pretty eyes narrow.

“Can’t trust you to do anything on your own then. Especially whenever you don’t even think about why you’re doing it.”

The hand on your thigh suddenly becomes an iron, instantly hot and searing your flesh, leaving a tattoo of his claim behind whenever it inches up to the juxtaposition of hip and thigh. Those teeth in your mouth grow, harder, and you feel it coming on, feel that you could really kill him if you wanted to. You could sink your fingers deep into his eyes before you pull them out like skewers, before you stick those squishy things into your mouth to taste their creamy middles. You could cough on him, could watch all of those hives appearing on his hand, his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his face grow in frequency, could throw darts onto them to pop him like a carnival balloon.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Frustration settles deep within your belly, along with the weighty sensation of acceptance. Kai seems pleased with your answer, maybe, because his fingers tap tap tap your hip before he’s on you. He’s a blur, you’re a falling leaf, and his hands are pressing down onto your collar bones so that he can shove you flat onto your back. The bed is hard now, no cushioning, and Kai’s hot, and you’re thawing, and his mouth hurts whenever he ensnares you. He’s never known how to kiss. It’s awkward, clunky. He sucks in both lips, strangely melds his mouth around them, and then he tries to find ways to flick at the flakes of pores and teeth with that juvenile tongue. He drools all over you, gross and sticky, and you can’t understand how he handles that filthy mess. He never turns his head the right way either, always too straight or too tilted, and his jaw doesn’t work correctly. It’s too mechanical, not a flow, and you just feel like you’re fulfilling an obligation whenever he kisses you.

Kai’s moaning into you, and then he rolls his hips in between the crux of your legs. He’s stony, and your eyes instantly wrench to the right, closed so tightly that it feels like you’ve pulled every single muscle in your fragile body. He’s writhing on top of you like a virgin, and there’s a part of you that feels victorious among the wreckage whenever you stew over how bad at sex he probably is, how clumsy and stupid he is, but it doesn’t make the tears spearing your eyes any less salty. They’re on fire, white flames that lick the dents in the fruits of your face, and so many of them escape, dropping onto the sheets, rivulets of watery paint, and the choked sob you breathe into Kai breaks his fantasies.

His eyes flit open with yours, only whiskers from yours, and he looks ugly and foul from this angle. It takes a beat for Kai to lean his body away from you so that he can scrutinize you. He stares and stares, and he keeps staring, and then he seems to tremble so sweetly and he almost makes a childish giggle. His shoulders pinch in together whenever he huskily whispers,

“I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

Nothing. Those are nothing words. But Kai stops, he keeps walking himself backwards, those honeycombs in his eyes are magnifying glasses into an insanity that makes you sick.

“Having sex with you whenever you’re crying wouldn’t do me any good. It wouldn’t make you stay perfect for me.”

Something is beginning to click like rockets in your head.

“If you’re crying and fighting me all of the time, I’m just going to get angry. And then I might accidentally hurt you.”

There are demons hissing into your ears, nasty nasty nasty thoughts that start to make your toes curl. It’s settling in your bones, your organs, and your eyes are widening with more and more and more fresh tears. They’re like thunderstorms down your face, and you’re soggy and gleaming with happiness. He’s so fucking ridiculous and dumb. You’re going to destroy him and manipulate the fuck out of him. You hate him so fucking much. He’s gullible in the strangest of ways and you’ve hooked your line in, and you’re going to exploit his ocean until there’s nothing left.

So you cry harder.

Kai releases more of those airy bubbles, not even chuckles, and his eyes wrinkle at the ends like stuffing paper.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll wait until I can’t take it, so don’t make me impatient. I want what we have to be special.”

The tears trickle into your tight mouth, juicy nectar, that stretching grin in your mind tingles, and nothing has ever tasted so sweet.

“Me too.”

#yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha #yandere mha x reader #overhaul x reader #yandere overhaul #yandere kai chisaki #chisaki kai x reader #kai chisaki x reader #mha overhaul x reader #kai chisaki #overhaul #chisaki kai #chisaki overhaul #mha chisaki #bnha chisaki #my scoville lit.#i take requests for the lov and shie hassaikai

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sixpennydame · 3 months

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Summer Promises

A one-shot for the Levi Ackerman x Fem!OC series, North Star

Read on AO3

Word count: 1.7k

Tags: fluff; post-Rumbling world; postwar!Levi feeling the healing power of nature

Author's note: While this one-shot is part of the North Star world, it can still be enjoyed without having read the series.

But the story is best enjoyed while sitting under the trees.

Levi can’t recall ever enjoying summers in Paradis. It had always been unbearably hot and humid; every shred of his uniform sticking to his body making it difficult to move. Not to mention that summer was the busiest time of year for expeditions. Riding for hours in the heat, the only time he felt a cool breeze was when he was flying through the air on ODM gear. The sound of nearby thunder from a summer storm would mingle with the footsteps of titans, and the flowers that dotted the forest ground were often splattered with the blood of his comrades.

No, he had no good memories of summer.

He’d arrived in Mursa at the peak of the season and with no knowledge of mountain summers. But the moment he’d moved into your home he saw how much you treasured it: the fresh flowers neatly displayed on the breakfast table every morning, and the basket of vegetables from the garden under your arm. You opened every window in the house to let a crosswind cool the rooms, the gossamer fabric of the curtain blowing in the wind.

He started his walk to his job at the stables in the early dawn hours, when the sun had not yet burned off the heavy dew collecting on each leaf and flower, the birds just beginning their songs. He noticed that the air was cool and crisp in the mornings and evenings here, and you’d given him a jacket when you’d seen him bristle at the chill.

You -

If people could be seasons then he’d decided you were summer. You were bright and warm, and had a bustling energy about you. He could hear you humming in your garden when you were pulling weeds, humming when you put laundry on the line to dry. Always humming, always singing…

…he didn’t mind it.

“Come ride with me,” you said one day while visiting the stables. You were brushing your horse, Astrid, and she seemed to snort in approval. “You were saying you need to ride Demon more anyway, right?”

It’s true, he needed to get the stallion out and stretch its legs.

“Ok, but just for a quick ride. I need to get back and do the rest of today’s chores,” he answered.

“Pfft, you’ve done most of them already, the rest can wait. Besides, it’s summer!”

(This was something you often said, he’d realized - when you wanted to sleep in a little longer on the weekends, when you’d eat an extra helping of strawberries with cream, when you’d stay up too late reading a book - as if summer was some magical pass to do things you don’t normally do.)

“He’s fine to leave for a few hours, right Mathieu?”

The old man smiles, the deep wrinkles around his mouth deepening. “Levi works so efficiently, I barely have anything left for him to do today.” He grabs a saddle and gives it to Levi. “Go, enjoy the summer’s day.”

Once both horses are saddled, you and he ride out of the stables and into the meadow.

“Where to?” he asks, having a feeling you’ve got something in mind.

“We’re gonna ride up into those mountains a bit.” You point to a mountain range just to the west of the stables. “I have a place to show you that I think you’re gonna love.”

You look at him with a gleam in your eye. “Wanna race to the foot of the mountain?”

He liked this competitive side of you. “You know Demon and I will beat you.”

“Not if I get a head start!”

A gentle prod to Astrid’s and you’re off in a flash. Levi smirks and pets the side of Demon’s neck.

“Time to show off a little, eh?” Levi clicks his tongue and taps Demon’s sides, just as they’d practiced over the past week. The black stallion snorts, stomping the ground before he starts his cantor. It doesn’t take long before they’re neck-in-neck with you, but he says a command and Demon goes even faster. By the time you and Astrid reach the foot of the mountain, the other two are relaxed, Demon nibbling on some blades of grass.

“What was that about beating me?” Levi smirks.

You roll your eyes before moving past him, starting up a narrow trail that leads into the trees. He follows behind, welcoming the cool shade as you ride further up. There’s a rustling in the bushes and Levi whips his head toward the sound, suddenly on alert. A deer’s head rises, seemingly unbothered by their presence.

Levi sighs. Even after all these years, it’s hard not to think that any movement in a forest is a possible threat. He keeps his eyes on your back as you ascend, the trail too narrow for you to ride side by side. But it’s a well worn trail, Levi notices; whether it was you or someone else that created it, it’s been used often. You don’t speak a word the entire trek until suddenly the ground evens out and you stop.

“Here we are,” you declare in a sing-song voice, “my little hideaway.”

The dense foliage of the pine and elm trees has given way to a small clearing dotted with white and blue flowers, their petals open towards the sun as if greeting its warmth. It was almost perfectly circular, like it was cleared of trees and specifically made.

“Martin and I would come here when we were kids.” You step into the clearing. “We thought fairies made this place - it’s always felt so magical.”

“Fairies?”

“Magical beings that live in the forest.” Levi looks at you, perplexed. “There aren’t forest spirits where you’re from?”

“Not that I’m aware of. But there were plenty of things that wanted to kill us,” he replies.

“Fairies can be mischievous, but they’re usually kind and benevolent. Especially if you give them a gift.”

You take out a peach and a small bottle from your saddle bag and place it under a large tree next to the clearing. “They particularly like wine and fruit.”

“Who doesn’t,” Levi says, slightly to mock but he must admit, his interest has peaked. “Now what happens? Do they jump out of the trees or something?”

“No! That’s silly,” you answer. Your eyes shine as you take his arm and pull him into the center of the clearing. “I know you don’t believe in any of this stuff, but..”

You sit down, pulling him down with you. “...you’ll see, there’s something special about this place.”

Before Levi can respond, you’re lying down in the grass, your face towards the sky, just like the flowers around you. “Just lay down. Close your eyes. Listen.”

There’s something about the calm and confident way you voice those three commands, and the next thing he knows, he’s lying beside you, his arms crossed against his chest.

One final sigh of resignation, and he closes his eyes. He waits a few seconds, wondering if something will happen, and laughing at himself internally for even entertaining these kinds of foolish thoughts.

But then his breathing steadies, and he notices that it’s in rhythm with the breeze blowing through the trees around him: an in and out, as if the trees are also breathing.

He feels a tiny insect - probably an ant - walking across his hand, the tall grass brushing against his body.

He smells the scent of pine in the air, sweet and woody.

He hears the bird song around him - the same melody he hears every day, but now, he notices every note. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

There’s another sound - a voice in the air, but it’s not yours.

“Rest..” it says..

…

Levi opens his eyes to the sound of you humming in the distance. He sits up, blinking a few times to adjust to the changing lighting.

“You felt it, didn’t you?”

You’re picking some flowers next to a tree, twisting their stems into a flower crown.

He rubs the back of his neck before standing up and wipes off the grass from his pants. “How long was I out?”

“Oh, for about an hour. I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful.”

Levi walks over to the tree you’re sitting under and leans against the trunk. You look up and smile at him.

“The fairies tend to give us what we need most. Apparently, you needed rest.”

Levi does a mental scan of his body. He does feel rested, more than he has in a long time. His muscles are relaxed, and even his knee isn’t aching as much. He’s never been a superstitious person - he believes what his eyes and other senses tell him - but he has to admit, there is something special about this place.

He wants to ask you what you were given during your time in the clearing, and what you need most. And why you brought him, of all people,here.

Instead, he looks away, his face apathetic. “Yeah, well, an afternoon nap is never a bad idea.” He glances down to see you smiling at him. “What?” he asks defensively.

You smile so sweetly at him, he feels a slight heat to his cheeks.

“Oh…nothing…nothing,” you reply, standing up as you hold the flower crown. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Would you…come here again with me some time?’

He can feel the blush growing across his face now and he turns away, walking towards Demon, who’s grazing nearby. “Sure.”

“Promise?”

He looks back at you to see that you’ve now put the crown upon your head. The breeze blows some of your hair across your face, and he almost reaches out to push the strands behind your ear, but you beat him to it. Of all people, why would you want to spend time with him? You'd only just met him a little over a month ago. And what is it about you that makes him want to say yes to whatever you ask?

He can’t explain what it is about this place that makes it feel so special. Maybe it’s some natural phenomenon, maybe it is fairies.

Or maybe it’s just you.

He reaches out and straightens the crown on your head.

“I promise.”

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painted-flag · 2 months

Text

Duty is the Death of Love - Benjicot Blackwood

✧.* masterlist.

✧.* pairing: benjicot blackwood x unnamed bracken!oc

✧.* summary: the fruits of passion are turned rotten from betrayal.

✧.* word count: 2.2k

✧.* note: angst, angst, and more angst stoked with forbidden love.

Her grief started as confusion. Waves of uncertainty moved through her brain. It was a mistake. All a mistake. The message had to have been wrong. There was no way her reality had morphed into this twisted hellscape. Yet, she reminded herself of the fickleness that lay in peace. Times of unity are nothing but falseness. Peacetime, another word that men used while havoc lay dormant; a sleeping beast waiting for vanity and envy to claw at their throats.

Situations could go awry at any moment. One slip up and suddenly the price of consequence is dealt. Men fight men, such is the march of time. A result of that conflict may be measured by the severity of the interaction. The God's exact justice in the cruellest of ways. Violence - unmitigated and gratuitous - is an affront to the God's.

That is their language to speak, not men.

Yes, situations could go wrong. So terribly wrong. But her family had appeased the gods daily. Earned their favour through rigorous prayers and offerings. She had knelt, every morning and night, in service and prayer to the seven. Her dedication enshrined her very being.

Why must they exact their retribution by taking everything from her?

Just that morning, she had broken her fast with her twin, Aeron. She had joked with him and planned their week together. There was nary a time when the two were not joined at the hip. All it took was one afternoon separated for her life to crumble like the many ruins laid bare through the Riverlands.

The news came swiftly, a sign of the stranger. She had been diligently stitching a new set of gloves for Aeron when they carried his body into the great hall of Stone Hedge. She did not understand it all - could not understand it. Just hours ago he had been breathing; warm and there. The cold corpse in front of her was not her brother, it could not be true.

His face, one she came to know dearly, would no longer look upon her with care. The sun from his eyes and the comfort from his words were no more. Death was odd to her. A complex system of contradictions came from the mark of the stranger.

Death was a tragedy for those gifted with youth, yet a point of victory for the aged.

It was in this sorrow of death she discovered an unwilling truth; her gods were false. How could her family carry centuries of servitude and be wronged like this? Perhaps it was a punishment from the old gods, that House Bracken had forsaken their originals and sided with the seven - sealing fates of evil vengeance.

The Battle of the Burning Mill was what men called it. Their need for grand titles trumped the yards of bodies now either buried or burned.

She had been locked in her chamber for an undetermined amount of time, watching the trees shake in the wind from her viewpoint. There was an unspoken question she dared not to explore. Conflicting reports were discussed regarding the exact nature of how the battle broke. However, one indisputable fact was that Aeron Bracken and Benjicot Blackwood had exchanged words. The details of those words are muddled, but the outcome is easily perceived by the field of fallen men.

On the morning of a new day, she found herself wandering the moors like a ghost in the night. One could have mistaken her for a banshee should they have seen her the day her twin’s body arrived. Never in her years of living had she shrieked so horribly, sobbed so deeply that the salty tears burned tracts down her glass skin. Now, her throat felt torn and she could no longer muster a single noise.

The sky hung slate and sad. Gray clouds dripped down to form fog and enshrined all around; a gossamer veil clung to the trees. The sun, like her brother, was smothered by the evil weather around - taken when needed most. Sleets of rain refused to fall.

The gods would not weep for men.

She remembered the gleam of his sword so clearly. A gift she had commissioned for their name day. All the coins collected throughout the year went into that gift and it was what killed him. Her gift killed her brother - pierced through his throat like a needle to cloth. She questioned ever getting it for him in the first place.

Those thoughts clouded her mind as she strode through the thicket. There was one destination in mind - a location she had kept hidden from everyone, including Aeron. Beside a rocky cutout with a small flowing waterfall lay a tiny meadow. The coming winter had seen all the flowers gone, but her memories of this place remained warm.

Viewing it, she could see the past flicker through her vision. Wandering hands, heated passion. The warmth of comforting strong arms wrapped around her body as she lay on a blanket in the grass with her lover. The trysts between her and Benjicot Blackwood were supposed to be nothing but meaningless bouts of built-up passion being expended.

However, the more his breath brushed her skin between kisses that trailed over her body, her heart and soul bonded to him. Ben had also relished in it, having confessed to reciprocating those feelings after a particularly long night of coupling in the hot spring behind the waterfall. She believed - truly - that what they had stretched beyond their houses ancient grudge.

What a silly little dream.

Her tragic reminiscence was interrupted by nearing footfalls. She turned to see the object of all her desires and the bringer of her current ire standing at the break of trees. He was visibly injured, with several bruises and countless cuts marring his exposed arms, neck, and face.

A whirlwind of emotions surged over her. A deep and unyielding love overpowered it all, but the feel of his touch - as he went to wrap her in his arms - pulled her free from that reverie. She shoved violently against his chest, pushing him away from her. Ben’s face, once relieved and calm, morphed into confusion.

“Why?” Her voice cracked. Its previous use through screaming in mourning had worn down on her body.

Ben tilted his head. His tongue moved across his chapped lips, “None of it was supposed to happen.”

A forced laugh burst forth from her mouth, which was quickly replaced by swelling anger, “Not meant to happen? Don’t be so absurd, Blackwood.” Her omission of the use of his first name came like a slap upon his face.

“I am telling the truth, I always will tell you the truth. It was not meant to happen.” Ben shook his head.

She regarded his figure for a few moments. The person in front of her was a shimmering reflection of the man she had known not long ago. The body that once stood with confidence swayed with uncertainty and pain. The physical remains of the battle he endured did not come close to the marks branded on his mind from the violence witnessed; the violence that washed across him like an unyielding tidal wave.

Ben swallowed, “Your brother…” You closed your eyes in pain, but he continued, “I’m sorry for your loss, for your house's loss… Everything happened so quickly.”

She watched as he moved back towards her, hesitantly this time. Once only a few inches from her, he went to reach out but stopped short. There was a time when she would curse such a distance between them, no matter how short. A time when all she wished was to remain next to him until her dying days.

Benjicot, who had pushed down the walls of their hate and built up a foundation of pure, unaltered love.

Benjicot, who had been the man to share in all her firsts.

Benjicot, who swore his mind, body, and soul to her for as long as he shall live.

Benjicot, who had slain her twin brother, throwing all the previous into an abyss of disregard.

“I fought to come back. I couldn’t lose you.” His words, while meant as a comfort, cut her deeper than any sword ever could.

“You lost me the moment you plunged that sword into Aeron’s throat. You killed me then, as well.” Tears had begun to fall down her reddened cheeks. The aggression in her voice did not match her face. Her look was nothing but anguish.

Ben’s brows furrowed and the accusation laid heavy on his heart. “You believe it was I who killed your brother?”

Her heart felt like it was tied to a rope and thrown into the depths of the ocean. As it sunk beneath the waves like an anchor, pieces of it broke off. They scattered in all directions. The lower her heart sank, the more fragile it became. Down lower and lower, breaking piece by piece.

“Can you tell me, with all that truth you swear to possess, that it was not you?”

Ben did not answer. His eyes, once so focused on her face, cast down to the ground as he hung his head in shame. The voiceless confirmation was enough for her to know. The rest of her heart then broke up and every bit wandered to the ocean floor - away from the light’s gentle caress - until there was nothing left but the rope it was once tied to.

“I never wish to see your face again. What we had…” She paused to swallow a sob that threatened to escape, “What we had never existed. It's nothing, like you are to me.”

It was almost laughable how much of a lie that was. No matter the crime, the slaughter of her family and house, what she felt for Benjicot would never go away. No amount of animosity or betrayal could erase the simple fact that her body and soul longed for him. It called out for him like a siren on rocky shores.

She moved back, for if she did not separate herself from him soon she would forsake all her previous words and fall into his arms; recreating all those previous nights they had shared. The honour of allegiance to her family and house was stronger than her personal feelings. Without so much as a goodbye, she turned to walk away.

The sound of a thud made its way to her ears. She could not turn around, could not look into his eyes. The sound of heavy and pained breathing made her return her gaze to him. Benjicot was on his knees in the dew-laden grass. Anguished painted his beautiful face. The carved cheeks she once thought carved by the gods were sunken. Despite making it out of the battle alive, his countenance reflected that of a corpse.

She watched as his hands reached down to the blade strapped to his hilt. He pulled the sword out of its sheath and gripped the blade. The hilt was presented to her, an offering waiting to be taken. Ben took a moment to control his breathing.

“Take it,” His voice wobbled with each word. This was the first time she had ever seen him cry. It did not look right - like the action itself should have never even been thought of. Pain did not look good on him.

“Take it and cut me down, my love.” He nearly sobbed out the words, “Send me to whatever Hell is waiting for what I have done to you.”

The blade reflected the dullness of the grey sky above. He had given her the opportunity to use his own blade against him; like some sense of poetic justice. Poetic justice would not bring her brother back. Poetic justice would not right the wrong that had befallen both of their houses.

Poetic justice could never bring her back to what they had just a few short days ago.

She walked back to him and looked down upon his form. In his eyes was nothing but trust. He gazed upon her with a softness like never before. Her heart began to beat erratically. The palms of her hands became clammy and the once rigid stance she held began to crumble. Her hand reached out but stopped just short of the hilt.

Ben moved it to touch her palm, “Cut me down and end your pain. I have hurt you, and for that, I must die.”

She remembered the vow he swore to her all those moons ago. A secret marriage only they and the gods witnessed during the hour of the wolf in this very meadow. He swore everything to her and promised to protect her no matter the cost. Protect her no matter the cost. How quickly it took for men to go back on their word.

She reached out and gripped the sword in her hand. It almost dropped to the ground, for she was not used to such a weight. Ben’s chest heaved in sync with hers. Their hearts beating together, perhaps for the last time.

Every fibre of her being screamed to stop. To abandon this foolishness, fall to her knees and wrap him in her arms. In spite of that, the faces of all of House Bracken’s men, the ones who lay dead, flickered across her vision. In the end, Aeron’s face remained. Once again, the feeling of rage that had dissipated returned with rigorous fire. She had an obligation to all those who died, to all the ancestors that came before her to exact justice as it was supposed to be. If the gods would not do it, she would. A familiar phrase brushed her memory which she heard long ago.

Duty is the death of love.

She raised the steel and made her choice.

____________

✧.* end note: not edited because i wrote this in a fever haze while coughing like no tomorrow. sorry for any glaring errors.

If you want to be added to any of my taglists, click here.

✧.* taglist for all works: @whodis?

✧.* taglist for any HOTD imagine: @aisselasstuff @idontlikelizards

#hotd imagine #house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood imagine #hotd fanfiction #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood fanfic #ben blackwood #benjicot blackwood x oc #bloody ben #house blackwood #house bracken #aeron bracken #aeron bracken fanfic #fire and blood fanfic #fire and blood imagine #asoiaf imagine #asoiaf fanfic

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clangenrising · 5 months

Text

Month 15 - Newleaf

Battle With Razor Pt 6

When Goldenstar opened her eyes, she was standing alone in the forest. Her mind felt foggy, like she’d been woken up from the deep of sleep. She glanced around, unsure where she was or why she was there, and her eyes caught on something sitting beside her among the roots and leaves.

She flinched at the sight of it. It was a ghost of a cat, not a bold and lively spirit like the cats of StarClan but a barely visible outline of a tortoiseshell made from gossamer thin rays of starlight. Most disturbingly, it was weeping silently. Starry tears pooled along the bridge of its nose and it regarded her with a forlorn, defeated expression. She realized with a start that it was her.

“Goldenstar,” said a gentle voice. She turned to see a different, starry tortoiseshell sitting patiently in front of her. She recognized Emberbloom immediately.

“Mom.” She melted in relief and threw herself into the cat’s embrace.

“It’s alright,” whispered her mother, rubbing her cold, starry cheeks over Goldenstar’s head. “It’s gonna be alright.”

“What happened?” asked Goldenstar, peeling herself reluctantly away. More StarClan cats had started to appear among the trees, all faces she recognized.

“You lost a life,” said Sunstar.

“Oh,” Goldenstar looked over at the crying ghost and understood. The cat’s visage flickered for a moment, briefly marred by an open, bloody throat and a torn belly. Goldenstar swallowed and tore her eyes away, skin crawling uncomfortably.

“Well,” she said, starting to remember what was going on, “send me back then! I have to kill Razor.”

“We would,” said Sunstar, “but there’s an issue. When a leader loses a life, there’s a brief time where their body recovers enough for them to continue on during which StarClan gives them whatever guidance they can. But it seems Razor is making more wounds faster than your body can heal them.”

“What?” Goldenstar stood abruptly. “But I’m dead, why would he do that? It’s not like he knows about my nine lives.”

“We can’t know why,” Sunstar said grimly. “But whatever his reason, until your body can recover, you won’t be able to return to it. It’s possible you might lose all of your lives if it goes on long enough.”

Goldenstar felt like she’d been smacked in the face. “W- But that’s impossible!”

“No, it’s not,” said Clearwater, the old silver queen who had given Goldenstar her eighth life. “Ancient legends tell of a rogue with a soul drenched in blood who took all nine of a leader’s lives with one strike.” Goldenstar looked around the group, searched the faces of the nine StarClan cats for any sign that this was a ridiculous fairy story. Each one sat stoically quiet and somber.

“Oh, Stars,” Goldenstar swallowed, “this is bad.”

“It will be alright,” her mother said again. Her strained smile was not convincing.

“Will it?” Goldenstar asked. “Isn’t there something you all can do? Send a sign, strike him with lightning, something!”

“We’ve already sent a sign,” said Clearwater. “We can only trust that help will arrive in time.”

“That’s it?” Goldenstar felt anger burning in her chest. “I’m just supposed to sit and wait?”

Clearwater shook her head. “The life I gave you was for Faith, Goldenstar. You have to-”

“Faith isn’t enough right now!” Goldenstar shouted. “Enough sitting around, somebody do someth-AH!” Sudden pain lanced through her body, icy cold and tingling. She bent over double, shaking and trembling under the strain as a second ghostly double tore itself from her body to stand before them all, leaving her feeling numb when it was gone. She stared at the spirit in horror, at the dull eyed expression and gaping throat, gore dripping and dangling from the ragged, open wound.

“Do something!” she pleaded, starting to sob.

“I’m so sorry,” Emberbloom wept with her, curling around her and holding her close. Sunstar frowned, looked around the clearing, and then started off into the trees.

“Sunstar!” shouted another cat, a brown tabby named Galebranch who had given Goldenstar her second life. “Where are you going?”

“To do something!” snapped the leader, her ginger tail disappearing into the wood. Goldenstar pressed her face into her mother’s starry fur and cried. Silently, she begged the universe to let Sunstar succeed, for her mentor to save her from her own foolishness.

The cats of StarClan stood by and watched.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #clangenrising #newleaf #Battle With Razor #StarClan #Goldenstar #Emberbloom #Sunstar #Clearwater #TW Graphic Injury

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faebaex · 2 years

Note

MELLEUS WITH A LIGHT FEMALE FEA READER LIKE ITS RARE AND A LIGHT FAE WHO NEVER SAW A DARK FAE AND A DARK FAE WHO NEVER SAW A LIGHT FAE

VSISBSLAKVAJKA HAHAHHA

author note: i had lots of fun writing this. Malleus does not understand sarcasm and reader is not much better (¯▿¯) this went in a completely different direction than i was expecting, but as usual inspiration struck during writing! Also, my first ever request! Thank you so much!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

characters: Malleus x F!Light Fae Reader

Grandma always told you to be careful when you left the cottage. Not to stray too far, because you could never be too sure about what you would encounter, or what would encounter you. "Fae like us are rare in this world, and you can't rely on everyone to be understanding." you remember your grandma warning you often.

Usually, you would never venture out at night. But tonight, the lanterns in your cottage had gone out, so no time like the present to go fetch some fresh lanternblossoms to refill them, right? They were easier to locate at night, after all, so if you were quick, you could be back within the hour. You grabbed your basket, and headed out.

With an iridescent flash, you teleported into the nearby glade and took a cursory look around. Perfect! Not a soul in sight. Humming a soft tune to yourself and swinging your basket, you began your search for lanternblossoms.

A bright flash of light filtering through the trees broke Malleus out of his thoughts, and he frowned. Perhaps this area was not as abandoned as he first thought. How bothersome. He trailed through the trees, in the direction of the light, a hand travelling across old bark as he journeyed. Perhaps it was a phenomena of this old forest that caused the glow, and not a soul instead.

And what a phenomena it was.

As Malleus made his way through the trees, his sharp ears picked up a soft song coming from the glade in front, a beautiful sound that attracted him like a moth to a flame. Or a dragon to a shining treasure...

Malleus broke through the trees silently, and the sight that greeted him was one he'd never imagined. It was as if a scene had sprung itself from a story book, or a history book even. The song that was floating from the glade was coming from a slight, frail looking creature, crouched among the undergrowth, a basket heaving with glowing blossoms resting by her side. But what surprised him were the enchanting, gossamer wings that sprouted from your back, shining in the darkness of the night. They were like nothing he had ever seen before, and before he knew it, he had already teleported to get a closer look.

You felt the intrusion before you saw it. A gentle but inquisitive rub at the tip of your wings startled you, and your head whipped back to see an imposing figure behind you. You hadn't even heard anything, how did he get right behind you?! On reflex, you slapped the hand away and stumbled to your feet, knocking your basket over in the process. You whirled around, hands on your hips and glared at the crude intruder, "you can't just touch someone without their permission! Especially something as personal as their wings! Have you no shame?!"

The tall, horned stranger regarded you with wonder, his eyes constantly flickering from your face to your wings in unhidden intrigue, "I've never seen a fae with wings like yours before," he stated, "how curious..." he muttered, and again he reached out a hand to touch your wings. Instinctively you leaned away and batted at his hand in an attempt to keep him at bay.

"H-hello!? Did you hear a word I just said to you? How would you like it if I just grabbed at you? In fact, why don't I just..." You planted your feet and leaped, pushing enough power in your legs to propel yourself high enough to grab a hold of one of the stranger's horns. What you wasn't expecting was for an arm to curl around your waist and keep you held aloft, using the opportunity to inspect your wings at this closer distance.

"Fascinating..." he breathed into your ear, entirely unbothered by your hand on his horn as his free hand came up to ghost along the edge of one of your wings and you couldn't help but flutter them at the contact. You gawked at the unabashed nature of this man and for a moment, you were unsure about what to do. But then you got a hold of yourself and begun to kick your legs and tug at his horn, "put me down, you brute!"

Malleus' lips downturned in dismay as your struggling disturbed his admiration of your wings but he did not let you go. Instead, he turned his face towards yours, uncomfortably close, and gazed at you, "would it put you at ease to see my wings as well?"

"... What? No! Why would I-- Put me down! And why aren't you scared of me?!" You hissed, renewing your struggling with vigour until eventually, the horned stranger lowered you until your feet touched the ground. Once you'd gotten your footing, you quickly let go of his horn and took a step back. Irritatingly, the stranger was still giving you a rather curious look.

"Scared? Why would I be afraid?" Malleus questioned, suddenly feeling rather taken aback. Usually, most were scared of him, not the other way around. What a curious little creature he had happened upon...

You folded your arms across your chest, puffing out your cheeks a little, “Grandma always told me that light fae are extremely feared by others, especially humans, so I should be careful, in case I startle anyone with my ominous presence!” Your own words ended up making you frown, “but you don’t seem very startled at all, just who are you?”

Malleus’ eyes widened in surprise at your words. A light fae? He had only read about them in old tomes hidden away in towards the back of the castle’s library. Even then, the tomes only ever had descriptions, no photos or depictions of light fae in them. There has not been any light fae sightings in over a century, to the extent that it was now rumoured that the light fae were extinct. Does this mean they were all hiding? If so, what were they hiding from?

You could feel the heat of the horned stranger’s gaze on you as he observed you, it seemed every word you spoke to him only enflamed his curiosity of you more. You puffed out your cheeks more, confused at his apparent lack of fear and you scowled more, trying to appear at least a little intimidating, “Hey! I asked you a question!”

Malleus blinked, before he held an inquisitive hand to his chin, his head tilted, “I am also fae, but not the same origin as you... I suppose specifically, as you are a light fae, I would be regarded as a dark fae.” You stared open mouthed at him for a moment, before you snorted at him in disbelief.

“Is that supposed to be a ruse? Everyone knows that dark fae aren’t real!” A laugh bubbled out of your chest, and Malleus couldn’t help but think that it was the sweetest sound, even though you were technically laughing at him. Either way, now it was his turn to frown, hands on his hips as he stared you down.

“Are you quite well? It is common knowledge that dark fae are descendent from the Thorn Fairy, one of the Great Seven,” Malleus retorted, “it is also common knowledge that Briar Valley is the realm of the dark fae.”

You laughed a little more, but it slowly died in your throat as you saw how serious he was. “Well, I’ve never heard of this ‘Briar Valley’, and the only things I’ve heard about dark fae are from bedtime stories from my grandma.” You found yourself mimicking his posture, hands on your hips stubbornly as you returned his frown, “besides, you have horns! What kind of fae has horns?”

“A dragon fae.” He answered immediately, his expression morphing more to offense at your words, but mostly he was confused by your odd behaviour. Believing light fae, the more humanly accepted type of fae, to be considered terrifying by others? Believing dark fae don’t exist and having no knowledge of Briar Valley? How peculiar you were. You acted like you were from a different world altogether.

You let out another unbelieving laugh, dropping your hands from your hips, “riiight... This is the part where you tell me dragons are real too, yeah? If you are a dragon, then I’m a lost princess.” You turned away, stepping back towards your basket and missing the stunned expression he gave you as you began gathering your blossoms back into the basket, “I guess people like you were why grandma never wanted me to leave the house.”

Malleus stared on at you in shock. A light fae princess? That would make sense why you were so unaware of the world around you. Perhaps the light fae had hidden you away for your own safety? The world during the war had been a dangerous place, after all. This grandma who kept you inside must have done so with the intention of protecting the royal lineage. Then why were you now outside, alone? Unaccompanied? He knew himself that royalty rarely get a moment alone, constantly trailed after by guards... What if you were in danger?

You finished gathering up the last of your fallen lanternblossoms, pushing the basket up into the crook of your arm, “well, as lovely as it was to meet you, I’ll be goin--”

“Come with me.”

You gawked at him. This man had a talent for consistently shocking you with the outrageous things that came out of his mouth. When you thought he honestly couldn’t surprise you any more, he’d suddenly say something equally or more bizarre. “Uh... I don’t think--”

Malleus’ expression was soft all of a sudden, sympathetic, “it is not safe for you to be here alone. I will take you to Briar Valley and we will find a way to return you safely to your kingdom.” Malleus felt sorry for you. It must be frightening, alone and separated from your kin, confused by the world. With the rarity of the light fae, it would be a sin to allow royalty, perhaps the last remaining of the light fae, to continue wandering alone. To Malleus, your safety was now paramount. He was sure Lilia would know what to do.

“I- What? Look, I think you’ve got the wrong ide--” You started to say but clearly the horned stranger’s words were not a request, as he reached out and grabbed hold of your wrist. Before you could even finish your retort, a green flash enveloped you both and you felt weightless. Magic. You didn’t get a moment to react, to even gasp, before the scenery around you drastically changed.

No longer were you in the glade by your home. You stood much higher up now, amongst steep, craggy mountains and a dark, almost oppressive scenery. But none of that compared to the sight before you. A castle larger than you had ever seen sat nestled between the mountains, with high pointed spires and gleaming green flames lighting the grand, arched windows. And just like the bedtime stories that your grandma used to tell you, the entire castle was surrounded in verdant, biting thorns. Your jaw hung open, your mind unable to comprehend the sight before you and what was happening.

The horned stranger released your wrist and took a step towards the castle, observing the shock on your features before gesturing towards the castle with an elegant sweep of his arm.

“Welcome to the Valley of Thorns, Princess.”

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